Joan
by Iron Rose Writer
Summary: Joan of Arc. One of France's greatest heroes and warriors. But that's not why Arthur hated her. Not at all. He hated her because Francis loved her. [Historical; Nation Verse; Human names used; Slash: FrUK]


Joan of Arc. England hated that name. Hated the person associated with it. Hated her skills. Hated her prowess in battle. Hated that she stole Francis' attention. That she stole his heart.

He refused to admit it, but he was jealous.

So insanely jealous that at the first opportunity he had her burned at the stake. He didn't think of the consequences until too late.

* * *

France stormed into Arthur's sitting room. Fury was etched into every fiber of his being. He barely noticed the look of confused anger on England's face as he rose to meet him. Francis picked the other country up by his shirt collar and slammed him into the closest wall.

"Why did you do it?!" Francis yelled, rage twisting his features.

"Do what, you bloody heathen?" Arthur sneered.

Francis felt angry tears pool at the corners of his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about, Arthur. Don't pretend."

Arthur rolled his eyes. France was so overly dramatic at times. He knew what Francis was on about. Joan of Arc. Just the thought of that witch made his blood boil. Francis had to know the woman was going to die anyway. Arthur simply sped up the process.

"I guess you caught me," England mocked. "I burned your _precious_ , _little_ Joan," he spat.

France threw Arthur away from him in rage. The smaller man flew into a small table holding a tea cup and a pot of hot tea. The table broke under his weight and the teapot shattered, spilling the scalding liquid all over him.

Arthur screeched as the tea burned him. Anger broke across his expression. "What the hell, Francis! What was that for?!"

The burning, angry tears Francis had been trying to hold back finally spilled over onto his cheeks. Did Arthur not understand what he did? The effect that her death caused? How much the death of Joan hurt his people? Had hurt _him_? He loved her. Her spirit, her courage, her faith. Everything about her was beautiful. The being in front of him burned that beauty.

And he, his people, their hearts and souls - they all burned with her.

"You have no idea what you've done!" Francis shouted through the tears. "When you burned her, I felt it. My people felt it. Of all the ways you've hurt me, my country, this hurts the most. And you don't care. You treat it like a joke. You treat me like a joke. For this entire war you've acted like nothing hurts you, or wounds you, or is even worth your attention. I'm starting to believe it's not actually an act after all."

Arthur knelt in the ruins of his table, absorbing the words Francis threw at him. His tone was so bitter and torn. Arthur didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to change things. He was never good at showing his emotions and it seemed that once again, it ripped a hole in both of their hearts.

"Francis, I-I-"

Francis continued, ignoring Arthur completely. "After everything you've done, it's time someone put you in your place." The tears ceased as he walked over to where Arthur sat, soaked in his tea. Francis crouched in front the stunned nation. Arthur could see the determination in his eyes and hear it in his voice as he spoke. "I'm going to win this war. I'm going to strip you of all your territories until all that's left of you is this island." Francis stood and his shadow covered Arthur. For the first time in his memory, Arthur was actually scared of what Francis could do. "I'm going to end this. And there's no way you can stop me."

Francis walked towards the door. He turned to the speechless country on the floor once more. "The next time I see you, you'll be signing your surrender, _England_."

Then Francis was gone and Arthur felt devastated. He had never heard his name sound so much like a slur. Francis always claimed that he could make any word sound beautiful, but that wasn't beautiful.

And it was all Arthur's fault.

* * *

Arthur took a deep breath as he stepped out of his carriage. He looked up the grand staircase that led to Francis' house. He was here to surrender.

He climbed up the stairs slowly, trying to stall for time until he had confront Francis. It was twenty-two years since the death of Joan. Twenty-two harsh, brutal, warring years that had taken their toll on the island nation. Arthur harbored no delusions that Francis had forgiven him, yet he hoped that things could still be reconciled.

Francis had been true to his word. Arthur had lost all but one of his holdings in mainland Europe. He and his people just couldn't take it any more. So here he was, about to beg Francis to stop this war.

Arthur steeled himself and knocked on Francis' elaborate door. It took a few minutes but then it was opened by Francis himself. Arthur was so stunned, he completely forgot his prepared speech.

Francis looked coolly down at the nation standing on his doorstep. "England."

Arthur recovered his composure. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but Francis cut him off before he could get a word out.

"I assume you are here to surrender?"

England wanted to snap at the other nation, but resisted. If he did that, Francis might never end this war. he cleared his throat again. "Yes. I came to surrender, a-and… apologise."

Francis cocked an eyebrow at that. For as long as he knew England he had never heard him apologise for anything. He stayed silent, giving Arthur a simple nod to signal that he may continue.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Francis, I'm sorry. I apologise for this war and for my conduct in it. I did things I will forever regret and made decisions without regard to anyone but myself. I hurt you and… I'm sorry."

"What about Joan?" Francis asked, staring down the smaller nation. "Are you _sorry_ about her?"

"Yes," Arthur said and he meant it. "Executing Joan was one of the worst mistakes I made and it's one I regret most. It was stupid and petty and I was jealous. I didn't realise it then and I'm not using it as an excuse, I just hated the attention you gave her and I wanted it." Arthur looked up at Francis with a pleading expression. "Francis, forgive me if you want, but _please_ end this war."

Francis nodded. "I accept your surrender." Arthur felt relief flow through him. "But I do not forgive you."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise and his heart felt heavy. He told himself that Francis' was unlikely to forgive him but it still felt terrible hearing it.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but I cannot forgive you right now. I-It's just too fresh. Maybe, one day, we can repair what's between us, but today is not that day."

Arthur nodded. It was more than he could ask for. "Thank you."

Francis looked off into the sky and nodded as well. "I'll send you a formal document declaring peace soon, but for now, you should go."

"Of course," replied Arthur. Francis turned away and closed his door. Arthur returned to his carriage, but spared one last glance at the mansion.

"Thank you again, Francis," he whispered to no one.

* * *

 **A/N: Hooray for overly cliche endings! High-five self! Anywho, onto the actually important stuff.**

 **Obvious Hundred Years(ish) War jargon, Joan of Arc, jealousy. (Fun stuff, right?)**

 **Facts:**

 **~ There was 22 years(ish) between the death of Joan of Arc and the "official" end of the war**

 **~ Joan of Arc was burned at the stake**

 **~ Some English did believe that Joan of Arc was a witch**

 **Thanks for reading. You can leave any questions, comments, or snide remarks in a review.**


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